Still the One (Book 2 in the Four of Us Trilogy)

35 | On My Own

And although I know that he is blind

Still I say

There's a way for us.

-Samantha Barks, "On My Own" from the soundtrack to Les Misérables

Brooke

The theater was in chaos. I watched as Miles ran up to the stage to check on Rachel, and my eyes searched the crowd for a familiar face.

"Brooke!"

I turned around to see Adam and Jane, waving at me from the front of the theater. I smiled and made my way to them.

"Excuse me, excuse me," I murmured as I maneuvered down the aisle.

Jane held out her arms to me and pulled me close. "Brooke, honey. You look so good!" she exclaimed, kissing the side of my forehead.

"Thank you, Jane. So do you," I replied.

"I'm so proud of you for coming through all of this on the other side." She looked around. "How did you get here? You only have a hardship license to go to work, right?"

I looked down sheepishly. "I took a Greyhound."

"Oh honey. That probably took way longer than necessary," she said.

I laughed. "What should've taken an hour and a half took three," I admitted.

"Well, you will be riding with us on the way home, and I won't take no for an answer," she said.

I smiled. "Thank you, Jane."

My eyes traveled over her shoulder as she hugged me again, and I saw a red-headed girl talking to Adam. I pulled away from her and looked a little closer. Shit. It's the girl from that day Luke came down for the paternity test.

"Who – who is that?" I asked Jane, not able to hide the hurt in my voice.

Jane didn't even need to look at who I was talking about. "That's Jessica, Luke's – " She stopped, glancing down at her feet.

"His girlfriend?" I croaked out.

She bit her lip and looked up at me. "I'm so sorry, Brooke."

I shook my head quickly, tears springing to my eyes. "I – I have to go," I stammered, the lump in my throat strangling me.

"Brooke, wait – we have to take you home," she pleaded, grabbing my hand.

I slid my hand out of her grasp. "I'll just take the bus," I muttered, pushing through the crowd and out the door.

***

When I got outside, I was on the verge of a panic attack. I sat down on a bench outside the building, trying to ground myself and steady my breathing.

My eyes danced around the sidewalk as I tried to focus on everything green that was in my line of sight: grass, bushes, an old woman's lime-colored pumps, a bug crawling on the concrete next to my foot.

When I managed to come back to reality, I reached into my purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

I knew it was a disgusting habit, but with the stress of the miscarriage and everything else, I needed something to keep me from looking Jordan up and shooting myself up and into oblivion.

I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, feeling calmer when I felt the rush of nicotine course through my body. I closed my eyes and took another drag, exhaling slowly.